


Here, at the End of the World

by shions_heart



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (sorta) - Freeform, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Porn With Plot, Shameless Smut, Smut, idk what else to tag honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-16 23:02:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4643316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shions_heart/pseuds/shions_heart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The man standing before him shuts the door, kicking off his shoes. Then he removes his helmet, and it’s Kuroo, it’s Kuroo. It’s <i>Kuroo</i>.</p><p>Kenma rushes forward, leaping onto his best friend before Kuroo has a chance to set down the helmet. He drops it with a soft curse, but then his arms are around Kenma, and he’s holding him close, as Kenma presses kiss after kiss against the side of Kuroo’s head.</p><p>“I almost lost you,” he whispers desperately. “I-I thought I did.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here, at the End of the World

**Author's Note:**

> So [knightswatch](http://archiveofourown.org/users/knightswatch/pseuds/knightswatch) (aka the elder angst god) gave me a prompt on tumblr. The prompt was "I almost lost you." 
> 
> This was the result.
> 
> (This is a separate thing from [I Will Follow You Into the Dark](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4608237/chapters/10502154), though that massive thing is based on this thing.)

Kenma hates that the battles are televised. He hates being forced to watch his best friend take on creature after creature, as the crowds roar approval. He knows Kuroo doesn’t truly have a choice. He’s the only one strong enough to defeat the monsters, but that doesn’t stop Kenma from clinging to him every time he receives the signal. He’s grown to hate that beeper and has often considered throwing it into the ocean. But he knows Kuroo would only grow angry. Because that dumb idiot actually believes he can save the world.

It doesn’t even enter his mind that he could pass off the job to the military, force them to do their jobs for once. Kenma has tried to reason with him, even as he clings to Kuroo’s waist and refuses to let go after the beeper rings.

“I have to, Kenma,” Kuroo always insists, pain shining behind his eyes, even as he pries Kenma’s fingers from his shirt. “I’ll be back. Just wait here, okay?”

And Kenma is forced to watch as Kuroo gets onto his motorcycle, equipped with every weapon it can reasonably carry, and drives away.

He’s never alone in the apartment. As soon as the broadcast begins, Shouyou is there. Sometimes Yaku and Lev as well. And Kuroo isn’t always alone either. Sometimes he fights with Bokuto and Akaashi, though the two of them aren’t as skilled as Kuroo. They didn’t receive the same experimental treatments.

Only Kuroo has the strength and stamina to defeat the nightmarish beings that have feasted on Japan’s citizens for decades. At least, that’s what the men in white coats told him.

Kenma sometimes wonders, sometimes wishes, that they lied.

The fight on screen today looks worse than usual. The creature is huge, with large teeth and even larger claws. Kuroo whizzes through the air, a small speck against a large sky. There are flashes and distant _boom!_ s and the crowds on the ground cheer and yell for Kuroo to defeat the monster as he always has. Kenma can’t tell if Bokuto and Akaashi are on the ground, using their well-honed strategy of setting in place traps and other pitfalls to cause the beast to stumble, to distract him while Kuroo makes the killing shot.

Kenma watches, tense, knees pulled to his chest. His fingers grip his toes tightly, and Shouyou chatters on anxiously beside him, reminding Kenma of Kuroo’s superhuman strength and speed, of his prowess and power, of how he’s never lost a fight.

 _Not yet_ , Kenma’s mind adds unhelpfully. _Not yet. Not yet._

Then it happens. A large flash, brighter than any so far, blinds the screen, and then a loud rumbling sounds. Once the light fades, all that’s left of the monster is a quivering mass of scales and fur, buried beneath several skyscrapers, now reduced to piles of stone and metal. 

Kenma inhales sharply, cutting off Shouyou’s jubilant shout. 

He can’t see Kuroo. 

The camera pans over the scene, catching sight of a coughing and dust-covered Bokuto and Akaashi. Bokuto waves to the crowd, pointing excitedly toward the creature and shouting something illegible. Akaashi looks drawn, weary, and Kenma waits, heart racing, head pounding from lack of oxygen, as the camera lingers on the place from which the two had emerged. 

Kuroo doesn’t appear.

Kenma leaps off the couch with a small cry, lunging for his phone. He dials with shaking hands, trembling fingers, and he turns his back on Shouyou to hunch over his churning stomach. The phone rings and rings, and although he knows that Kuroo never leaves without his phone, he doesn’t answer.

Instead, the voicemail clicks on, and Kenma still can’t breathe, can’t say anything but “Kuro,” soft and strained. He closes his eyes, chest tightening, and in the end he finds he can no longer stand. He falls before Shouyou can catch him, and then his head is cradled in his friend’s lap, as Kenma curls into himself, clutching at his phone.

The television drones on behind them, the crowd unnaturally silent as the news anchor wonders aloud if Japan has lost its only hope of survival.

 

The apartment is dark, matching the sky outside, when Kenma hears the familiar rumble of a motorcycle enter the lot below. He sits up quickly, listening hard, eyes burning from the tears he’d shed. For a moment, he wonders if he only imagined it. He doesn’t hear the sound again, and he’s about to reach for his phone, to call Shouyou and ask him to come over once more, despite the curfew, when he hears the sound of a key in the lock, and the opening of the door.

He flies out of the bedroom without taking time to think that it might be someone else. All of Kuroo’s friends have a copy of their key, as he insisted that, should anything happen to him, they take care of Kenma. So it was quite possible that his nighttime visitor was simply Bokuto or Akaashi, or even Daichi or Oikawa. He stops short in the hallway, breathing hard.

The man standing before him shuts the door, kicking off his shoes. Then he removes his helmet, and it’s Kuroo, it’s Kuroo. It’s _Kuroo_.

Kenma rushes forward, leaping onto his best friend before Kuroo has a chance to set down the helmet. He drops it with a soft curse, but then his arms are around Kenma, and he’s holding him close, as Kenma presses kiss after kiss against the side of Kuroo’s head.

“I almost lost you,” he whispers desperately. “I-I thought I did.”

Kuroo’s arms tighten around his small frame, a gesture that might frighten anyone else considering Kuroo’s strength, but Kenma only feels relief and joy and his body trembles, as Kuroo murmurs, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” over and over into his ear.

Kenma barely registers being carried into the bedroom, but then Kuroo is laying him against the mattress of his bed. He doesn’t try to pry Kenma off, and Kenma doesn’t let go, simply welcomes the weight of Kuroo on top of him, though he can tell the other is attempting to hold himself up enough so he won’t crush Kenma.

Once he thinks he can face Kuroo without sobbing, Kenma withdraws his arms from around Kuroo’s neck in order to cup Kuroo’s face in his hands. He looks into Kuroo’s eyes, and Kuroo meets his gaze. They both breathe softly, and Kenma can smell the fresh mint of Kuroo’s breath, from the gum he always chews after a battle to calm his nerves. It’s gone now though, and Kenma wonders absently if he spat it onto the street again.

Kuroo has a scratch above his right eye, still crusty with dried blood. His expression is one of exhaustion mixed with apology and affection. Kenma strokes his thumbs across those sharp cheekbones, and Kuroo’s eyes close.

“Kenma,” he breathes, and Kenma’s heart shatters all over again.

He presses his lips to Kuroo’s forehead, his nose, his chin. He kisses the underside of his jaw, lingering there a moment, before lifting his lips to catch Kuroo’s. He feels the sharp intake of breath, and for a moment he fears Kuroo will pull back, will ask what he’s doing, will talk him out of it.

But then Kuroo kisses him back, fierce and desperate, as though he’s drowning and Kenma is his air. The fingers of his free hand move into Kenma’s hair, threading through the strands, making Kenma shudder.

Kenma knows the world needs Kuroo, but he can allow himself to be selfish for one night, can’t he?

***

In the aftermath of the attack, the city is quiet. There are no cars driving through the streets, no children laughing as they race home after club activities. Even the various wildlife that used to frequent the streets have gone. No birds chirp in the trees. No cats chase each other through the dumpsters. No dogs bark or howl. Sendai has become a ghost city, and some nights the silence seems stifling.

But in this tiny room in this small apartment, Kenma doesn’t feel stifled. He feels warm. Kuroo’s weight settles on top of him, and their panting, heavy breaths fill the silence. Kenma grips the back of Kuroo’s jacket, nails digging into blood-crusted leather. He doesn’t care about the mess Kuroo is in. All he cares about is that Kuroo is _safe_ and _here_.

His lips are bruising, relentless, but that’s okay because Kenma’s are as well. They’re clinging to each other with a desperation that is probably unhealthy, but neither of them seems to care. Kenma’s wasted too much time worrying about what now feels like trivial things. He knows that this will change things between them. He knows that they’re crossing a line that they haven’t even spoken about crossing before.

But he almost _lost_ Kuroo.

He doesn’t want to waste any more time dancing around.

He presses his tongue against Kuroo’s lips, and after a brief hesitation, Kuroo allows him inside, a tremor moving through his body. Kenma can feel it as keenly as though it was his own body trembling, and perhaps it is as well. He can’t tell. His tongue brushes against Kuroo’s. It’s warm and wet and pushes back with urgency. Kenma retreats, and Kuroo follows him, dipping into his mouth with a low moan. Kuroo’s breath is hot, and Kenma can taste the sharpness of the mint that lingers.

It’s then that Kenma notices that Kuroo has calmed some. His lips are moving slower, with not as much pressure. Kenma nudges his tongue back, sliding his mouth over Kuroo’s bottom lip to give it a small suck. Kuroo’s body twitches, and Kenma bites down gently. He moves his hands to Kuroo’s collar, pushing back the leather jacket, shoving it down over Kuroo’s shoulders.

That’s when Kuroo pauses. He leans back, even as Kenma attempts to keep a hold on his lip. He’s forced to let go, though, or otherwise hurt Kuroo, so he does, but chases Kuroo still, sitting up as Kuroo tries to escape.

“Kenma.”

Kenma knows what Kuroo is going to say, so he tries to keep him from saying it. He digs his fingers into Kuroo’s hair, gripping the wild strands tightly, as he presses another kiss to Kuroo’s mouth. Kuroo’s hands move to Kenma’s arms, trying to pull them away.

“Kenma,” he mumbles against his lips. “Kenma, stop.”

But Kenma doesn’t want to stop. He needs Kuroo; can’t he see that? He almost lost him. He tries to push his tongue back into Kuroo’s mouth, but Kuroo turns his face away. That gives Kenma pause. He freezes, breathing hard, half-straddling Kuroo’s lap. He presses his forehead against the side of Kuroo’s, squeezing his eyes shut to trap the tears that formed.

“Please,” he murmurs, knowing he doesn’t need to say anything else.

Kuroo’s hands move to his back, pressing his fingers against Kenma’s spine. Kenma was wearing one of Kuroo’s shirts, a habit he started one day and while Kuroo did a double-take when he first saw him, he hasn’t ever said anything about it. Gently, Kuroo’s hand pushes the material up, the collar slipping down across Kenma’s shoulder, baring it and the edge of Kenma’s collarbone.

Without saying anything, Kuroo presses his face against the crook of Kenma’s neck, inhaling deeply. Kenma moves his fingers through the dark hair, shivering as he feels the soft pressure of Kuroo’s lips against his skin.

“If we do this . . .” Kuroo says quietly, and there’s anxiety lacing his tone as he trails off.

Kenma’s brain supplies the rest of that sentence.

_It will change everything._

_We might ruin what we have._

_We won’t be able to take it back._

Kenma shakes his head, because it’s so simple to him. Why can’t Kuroo see how simple it is?

“I love you,” he replies softly, almost inaudible. In fact, if Kuroo’s ear wasn’t centimeters from his lips, he doubts he would’ve heard it. He wonders if his words will make a difference. If Kuroo will know in what way he means. He really doesn’t want to spell it out for him.

Kuroo’s shoulders shudder, and something akin to a laugh puffs against Kenma’s neck. Perhaps it was a sob. Knowing Kuroo, it was probably both.

“Oh, Kenma,” he sighs, lifting his head and taking Kenma’s face in both his hands. His thumbs ghost across Kenma’s cheekbones, trailing fire across his skin. “I’ve loved you . . .” He stops, shaking his head. His cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are glistening. Leaning forward, he presses his forehead against Kenma’s, closing his eyes. “So long,” he finishes on another exhale.

Kenma studies his expression, seeing the regret there, the apology, the doubt. He places his hands on either side of Kuroo’s jaw, lifting his head to press a kiss against Kuroo’s lips. It’s chaste, just a brush to start. But Kuroo leans into it, yearning for more. Kenma obliges, parting his lips, accepting the prodding tongue.

They fall back against the bed, and this time Kuroo doesn’t protest when Kenma pushes his jacket off his shoulders. Instead he pulls his arms out, tossing the garment onto the floor. He leans back only briefly to pull off his shirt. Kenma doesn’t allow his gaze to linger on the scars that mark Kuroo’s chest. Instead he reaches for him once more, wrapping his arms around Kuroo’s neck, as he falls back into them. Their lips meet again and the urgency from before returns.

Kuroo’s warm, calloused hands move to Kenma’s hips, lifting them slightly in order to push his shirt up, fingers caressing Kenma’s sides with a delicacy that has Kenma shivering, bumps prickling along his skin. His tongue glides over Kenma’s teeth, the roof of his mouth, ever so gently. Kenma can feel himself mewing; a soft sound that’s embarrassing yet escapes anyway. Kuroo’s lips tilt, and Kenma knows he’s smiling. He’s tempted to pinch him, but he doesn’t, because Kuroo’s hands wander up his chest, and his thumbs glide over his nipples, causing him to inhale sharply.

Kuroo’s lips leave his then, to Kenma’s disappointment. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, keeping it there, as he opens his eyes and glances down at Kuroo’s hair, the dark strands bobbing slightly, as Kuroo plants warm, wet kisses against Kenma’s collarbone and then sternum. His tongue flicks against one of Kenma’s nipples, and another tremor runs through him. Kenma arches into the touch almost unconsciously, and Kuroo’s hand moves back to his side to keep him steady.

As his tongue continues to lavish the spot, Kuroo’s other hand slides between them, pressing against the bulge in Kenma’s boxers. Kenma manages to muffle the whimper that sounds, pressing his wrist firmer against his teeth. Kuroo pauses then, lifting his head to look down into Kenma’s flushed face.

Tenderly, he sweeps his fingers through Kenma’s hair, shifting the strands out of his eyes. “Do you want me to go slow?” he asks, his voice husky with want. It makes Kenma squirm, and he shakes his head. It’s his first time, but he doesn’t want to be teased. He wants Kuroo _now_. To be as close to him as humanly possible.

Kuroo hesitates however, and Kenma is forced to look up at him. He sees the uncertainty in his gaze, and knows what he’s about to say before he says it.

“I just . . . this is your first time, isn’t it?”

Kenma gives him a withering look, and Kuroo grimaces.

“Right, yeah, of course. I just . . . I don’t want to hurt you.” His throat constricts in an almost audible gulp. “I mean, have you even . . . you know . . .”

Kenma’s eyes widen, and he can feel heart rising on his cheeks for a much different reason than before. He lifts his hand, quickly slapping it over Kuroo’s mouth before he can continue. “Please stop talking,” he says desperately. “You know what you’re doing, right?”

Kuroo hesitates, before nodding, his eyes wide above Kenma’s hand.

Kenma slowly retracts his hand, turning his head to fix his gaze on the window. “So just . . . do that.” He wonders if everyone’s first time is as embarrassing.

There’s a pause in which Kenma fears Kuroo will pull away completely and tell him that they can’t do this. A quick glance to Kuroo’s expression tells him that his loser of a best friend is certainly thinking of doing just that. In a preemptive move, Kenma wraps his arms around Kuroo’s neck, leaning up to press his face into the base of his throat. He inhales deeply. Kuroo smells of sweat, but it’s not wholly unpleasant. It’s mostly earthy, with the slight coppery scent of blood. Kenma kisses the hollow between his collarbones, trailing his lips across the right one. His hands massage the back of Kuroo’s neck and head, pulling him back down as he relaxes against the mattress behind him.

Kuroo follows without resistance, his elbows bracing on either side of Kenma. The tenseness of his body begins to ease, and Kenma continues to place tiny kisses along his collarbone and shoulder.

“I want this,” he assures him softly. “I want _you_. So don’t be an idiot.”

Kuroo chest vibrates, as he laughs weakly. “Right,” he murmurs then. He gently pulls Kenma’s arms from around his neck, taking the material of his shirt and pulling it up over Kenma’s head. His hands rest on Kenma’s hips a moment, and they both inhale shakily, before Kuroo removes his boxers as well.

Kenma turns his face away, biting his lip, as he feels Kuroo’s gaze on him.

“Shit, Kenma,” he says, the words coming out choked.

Kenma flushes. It’s not as though they haven’t seen each other naked before, but with the way Kuroo sounds it feels like it’s the very first time. To even the score, Kenma quickly places trembling fingers against Kuroo’s waistband. He thumbs the button out of its hole, and unzips the jeans quickly. He pushes down on them, wondering if Kuroo needs to wear such tight pants to fight kaiju. Thankfully, Kuroo helps after a moment, until they’re discarded along with the rest of the clothes on the floor.

His erection is quite visible through his boxers, and Kenma trails his fingers over it lightly, focusing his gaze on the skin of Kuroo’s abdomen that quivers at the touch. He finds himself sitting up, leaning forward as he tugs the boxers down to Kuroo’s thighs. His member springs free, the tip already glistening with drops of precum.

“Uh, Kenma, you don’t—”

But Kenma is determined, because after everything Kuroo’s done for the world, for Kenma, he deserves to feel good. He deserves pleasure. So despite the hand that drops to his head to push him away, Kenma grabs Kuroo’s base and wraps his lips around the head in front of him. It tastes salty, perhaps a little bitter, and Kuroo’s gasp is satisfying to hear, especially after the noises Kuroo elicited from Kenma earlier. He descends further, sliding his tongue against the heated skin, pressing against the veins he feels.

“ _Kenma_.” Kuroo might’ve meant that to be a protest, but it comes out needy, encased in a moan.

Kenma pulls back, giving the tip one last suck, before letting it go and tilting his head back to look up at Kuroo. Kuroo’s cheeks are flushed, eyes half-lidded with desire. It’s a good look on him, and Kenma can feel his body responding to it. Fire pulsates through his skin, tingling, and Kuroo leans over him, forcing him back onto the mattress.

“Fuck, Kenma,” Kuroo murmurs, before kissing him hard, apparently not minding where his mouth had been moments before.

Kenma melts into it, lips parting immediately. He arches into Kuroo, pressing his chest against the much broader one above him. His skin shivers at the contact, and he can feel his heart pounding, racing with anticipation and want. It pounds in his ears relentlessly, threading more fire across his neck. Kuroo rocks his hips down into Kenma’s then, rubbing their lengths together, and Kenma can’t suppress the small cry that is immediately swallowed in Kuroo’s kiss. He rocks again, pressing harder, and Kenma bites down against Kuroo’s lip, as the pleasure crawls through his abdomen and stomach, sharp and hot.

Kuroo is moaning, deep and loud. His lips vibrate with the sound, and Kenma runs his tongue along them, feeling the vibration as though it were his own. Kenma’s fingers curl into Kuroo’s hair once more, gripping, and Kuroo reaches for the bedside table. Since this is Kuroo’s room, there’s no doubt what will be in there. Kenma hears the crinkle of foil and feels the thud of something being tossed next to his head.

Kuroo leans back then, panting. He sits up, picking up the bottle of lube and squirting some onto his fingers. Kenma watches, his heart thudding in his throat. Kuroo hovers over him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, before moving his mouth to Kenma’s cheek and jaw, the underside of his ear. Kenma trembles, as Kuroo gently pushes his legs apart with his knee.

“Are you—”

“Yes,” Kenma cuts him off before he can finish the question.

Kuroo chuckles softly, though there’s a twinge of nervousness in the sound. He pulls away, sitting back on his heels, as one hand wraps around Kenma’s length and the other drops below. He presses a single digit against Kenma’s entrance, massaging it slowly, as he begins to tug gently on Kenma’s member. Ripples of heat spread through him, and Kenma can’t stop the whimper that escapes again. He presses the back of his wrist against his mouth, turning his face away. It burns, but Kuroo doesn’t laugh at him.

“Fuck, Kenma, you’re . . .” Kuroo sounds strangled, and he can’t finish his sentence. But that’s okay, because Kenma isn’t sure he can take compliments like that right now.

Carefully, Kuroo inserts his finger. The pressure feels strange, foreign, and Kenma feels his body tense. Kuroo leans down to kiss his forehead lightly.

“It’s okay, kitten,” he says quietly, and Kenma feels his insides melt at the nickname. “Just relax.” He pulls faster on Kenma’s length, rubbing his thumb over the tip.

Kenma shudders, arching into the touch without thought. His mind feels fuzzy from the heat, and as Kuroo begins to thrust his finger, he feels his body adjust to it. He knows he’s making more embarrassing sounds, but he can’t stop them, not when Kuroo’s hand is relentless on him. A second finger is added, and Kenma inhales sharply as they move deeper into him. Kuroo’s lips are parted, as he stares down at Kenma, and Kenma can feel he intensity of his gaze. He closes his eyes, focusing on the feel of Kuroo’s hand, his thumb circling his tip.

Precum starts to spill from him, but Kenma is too caught up in the sensations to feel self-conscious about it. Kuroo slides his palm over the slit, catching the liquid and using it to coat Kenma.

Kenma’s hips are quivering, reaching upward. They tilt and undulate, his body eager for more. _More_.

Then Kuroo presses in a third finger, pushing deep. He curls his fingertips against a certain spot inside him, and Kenma feels the world heave. A sharp cry that doesn’t sound like his own voice splits the quiet that’s only so far been broken by their panted breaths and Kenma’s soft whimpers. A quick glance at Kuroo tells Kenma that he’s grinning, which is a little infuriating.

“You—AH!” Kenma can’t finish the reproach, because Kuroo curls his fingers again against that same spot, harder, and Kenma’s body lifts off the bed in response, his heels digging into the sheets, as his fingers grasp at the air.

“Mm, I think you’re ready for me now, kitten,” Kuroo purrs, and Kenma resists the urge to punch him, not sure he has the strength for that just now. Besides, that would be counterproductive seeing as he wants nothing more than for Kuroo to enter him right now.

Kuroo gently removes his fingers, and Kenma hisses softly at the lack of pressure. But then Kuroo is reaching for the condom. Kenma chews on his lip, reaching out to take Kuroo’s wrist.

“Y-you don’t . . .” He stops, his face feeling much too hot.

Kuroo’s eyes widen. “Kenma . . . are you sure?”

Kenma nods, looking away. “I know you’re clean. Oikawa lets me see your physical exam results.”

Kuroo doesn’t do anything for a moment; before he leans down to press a soft kiss against the side of Kenma’s neck. He reaches once more for the lube, filling his hand before sliding it over his own member. He closes his eyes briefly, stifling a moan, and Kenma sneaks a peek, wondering if anyone has ever fainted during sex due to overheating.

Kuroo takes Kenma’s thighs then, spreading his legs further, hooking them around his waist. Kenma grips him firmly, moving his hands to Kuroo’s shoulders. For a second Kuroo pauses and carefully brushes his fingers through Kenma’s hair.

“I just want you to know that there’s nothing in the world I love more than you,” he says quietly, and Kenma hides his face behind his hand.

“You’re such a loser,” he complains.

“But you love me anyway,” Kuroo sings, and this time Kenma really does punch him. Lightly. On the arm.

“Keep that up and I’ll kick you out,” he warns.

“It’s my room!” Kuroo laughs, moving his hand back over Kenma’s length. He gives it a single, smooth stroke that immediately has Kenma quivering. “Besides,” he adds, his voice lowering. “Don’t you want to finish this?”

Kenma swallows hard, unable to deny that he wants that more than anything. He bites his lip, nodding once, before turning his face away again. Kuroo takes this in stride, however, bending to kiss the side of his face gently. He takes a moment to position himself, and Kenma feels slight pressure and then pain flares as Kuroo enters him slowly.

He hisses, tensing again. But Kuroo’s hand continues to stroke him lightly, and his lips pepper the side of Kenma’s face with tiny kisses. He stops just inside him, waiting until Kenma starts to relax. His heart is pounding again; he’s sure Kuroo can hear it.

“Are you okay?” he asks with concern, his voice strained.

Kenma nods, because he doesn’t want to stop, despite the pain. He feels Kuroo press further, stretching him, and he can’t stifle the small cry that tumbles from his lips. Kuroo moans low in his ear, pressing his forehead against the side of his.

“ _Kenma._ ”

The longing in his voice sets Kenma trembling again, and he gasps as Kuroo begins to thrust. It’s a slow, gentle movement at first, and he doesn’t seem to mind Kenma’s fingernails digging into his shoulders. He continues with the steady rhythm, his hand bracing against the mattress beside him, while the other slides up and down Kenma’s member, which has started to leak more profusely.

“Ah, _ah_ , _Kuro_ ,” Kenma moans, unable to keep it in any longer. He can feel himself adjusting to the pressure. He feels _full_. Full of Kuroo. His Kuroo. It’s what he’s wanted for so long, it’s almost difficult to believe that it’s truly happening. He forgets the solemn silence outside the apartment. He forgets the kaiju and even the attack from that morning. All his senses have converged on this one man, on his savior, his best friend.

_Tetsurou._

Kuroo stiffens briefly, and hazily Kenma wonders why. He digs his heels into the small of Kuroo’s back, urging him to continue.

“S-Say it again,” he breathes, trembling above Kenma, and Kenma realizes that he must’ve said the name aloud.

A smile twitches on his lips as he complies. “Tetsurou,” he says, tasting the name in his mouth, savoring it, releasing it as something precious and _his_.

Kuroo moans, beginning to thrust again, harder this time, faster. There’s a new desperation in his movements, and Kenma rolls his hips up to meet him in his abandon.

“Tetsurou.”

“Ah, Kenma.”

“ _Tetsurou_.”

“Fuck, _Kenma_.”

They’re gasping, trembling, rocking with a push and pull that feels natural and almost reverent, in a way. Kenma can feel the heat building, pooling in his stomach and lower, sending tremors up his spine. Kuroo’s thrusts start to grow wild, becoming disjointed. His tugs on Kenma’s length quicken, and Kenma isn’t sure how much more he can take. It’s too much, yet not enough at the same time.

Then Kuroo hits that spot, the one from before, and Kenma feels fire burst through him in tsunami of heat, sparking through him sharply, and his toes curl, his fingernails dig deeper.

“ _T-Tets_ —th-there. D-don’t stop!”

He’s so close, and Kuroo pounds against the spot over and over, and Kenma is unraveling, spiraling. He knows that he crying out, but he can’t hear himself through the rushing in his ears, the pounding of his heart. His body convulses against Kuroo’s, and then he’s coming, spurting into Kuroo’s hand. He feels Kuroo tip over the edge as well. He hears a shout that contains his name, and then something enters him, warm and sticky, and Kuroo’s hips stutter over a couple more thrusts, before he collapses onto Kenma in a sweaty heap.

The two of them lay there a moment, each struggling to even their breaths. Kenma blinks up at the ceiling, seeing spots from squeezing his eyes shut so tightly. His skin is still quivering, and he can feel Kuroo twitching gently against him.

With a lusty sigh, followed by a groan, Kuroo carefully extracts himself from Kenma, flopping over onto his back beside him. He’s still breathing hard, and one hand moves to his stomach. The other is still full of Kenma’s liquid, so Kenma leans off the bed to grab Kuroo’s shirt that he’d been wearing. He hands it to Kuroo, who takes it without glancing at it, cleaning himself off before tossing the shirt toward his clothes hamper, missing. He turns onto his side then, looking at Kenma with such a dopey expression, Kenma has to look away.

“Hey,” Kuroo says, still wearing that ridiculous grin.

Kenma sighs. “What?”

“Remember that time we had sex?”

Kenma huffs, turning back to frown at Kuroo. “You mean two seconds ago?”

Kuroo nods. “And that was really awesome and all, but now I feel I should tell you something.” His grin slides away and he looks at Kenma with such a serious expression, Kenma feels anxiety start to creep back into his chest where it had been so blissfully absent this whole time.

“I have a boyfriend,” Kuroo says, and Kenma’s eyes widen. “I think you’ll like him though,” Kuroo continues without letting Kenma respond. “He’s short and really cute, and even though he loves his phone and PSP more than me, he likes to wear my shirts—ow!”

Kenma punched Kuroo in the arm, hard this time. “Get out.”

“It’s my room!” Kuroo says with a laugh, rubbing his arm.

Kenma narrows his eyes, and Kuroo reaches for him. He thinks about leaving himself, but he doesn’t want to be alone. Besides, he can’t truly fault Kuroo for being Kuroo. His obnoxious nature is a part of him, and Kenma loves all of him. So he acquiesces, though not without a glare. He curls into Kuroo’s chest, allowing Kuroo’s arm to rest around him and pull him close.

“I’m sorry, kitten. I couldn’t resist,” Kuroo says with a smile in his voice.

Kenma doesn’t reply, but simply buries his face against Kuroo’s chest. He knows they should probably shower, but he wants to remain here for a little while longer. In Kuroo’s arms he feels safe, and the steady beat of his heart is comforting. It reminds Kenma that Kuroo is alive and with him and that, despite the dangers lurking outside and the possibility of worse attacks in the future, as long as they’re together they can survive the end of the world.

**Author's Note:**

> http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/


End file.
